


Just That Simple

by Kelfin



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Incest, Lord/Retainer Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-04
Updated: 2010-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelfin/pseuds/Kelfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, very serious problems have unexpectedly simple solutions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just That Simple

_for Tracy-senpai_

~*~

Saralegui was in the middle of one of his monologues when Berias realized that they were going to have a serious problem. There was something about the way he glanced up and to the left to make sure— just to make _sure_ that Berias wasn’t only _pretending_ to be interested—that made Berias wonder why Saralegui would think something like that mattered. Then when he smiled to show he was listening and Saralegui’s cheeks colored… Well.

Even as smooth and sophisticated a politico as Saralegui was, he was still very young. He was used to hiding his real thoughts and flirting to get his way with other people, but he’d never needed to do that with Berias, and he wasn’t good at it. Flushes and blushes would betray his cool countenance, he’d stumble over a practiced line, or he’d act just a little _too_ eager. Every week it became clearer that Berias was going to have to do something drastic, because—  
  
Saralegui had a crush on him.  
  
It was endearing (enchanting, adorable…) to watch the boy’s discreet struggle to retain control of his feelings. The things that betrayed him were subtle—a slight widening of the pupils, a stiffening when Berias touched his back—and Berias enjoyed looking for them. When they were alone, he’d brush against Saralegui’s arm or hold his gaze for just a little longer than normal. He knew he shouldn’t, but the warmth of Saralegui’s admiration was tempting. And so, when he found an excuse, he laid his hands on Saralegui’s shoulders or ran them through his hair, sometimes even daring to stroke his fingers against the skin at the back of Saralegui’s neck. It always made Saralegui shudder and jerk away.  
  
Later, Berias didn’t know why he’d been stupid enough to think he could get away with something like that. It was cruel to encourage the boy when he knew that they couldn’t ever be together the way Saralegui was bound to want. Still, he found reason after reason to justify his behavior, at least until he realized that they had a _very_ serious problem, which was when Saralegui kissed him.  
  
The ultimate devotion one can show for one’s liege is to obey him against the strongest feelings in one’s heart; the ultimate trust one can place in one’s retainer is to risk one’s life on the accuracy of his arrow. Both of them knew this, and when he’d bent over Saralegui in his bed, anxious to atone for the great sin of injuring his master, this knowledge passed between them, palm to chest and eye to eye, as if it were a warm and living, physical _thing_.  
  
“I apologize,” he said solemnly.  
  
“Why?” Saralegui asked with a weak laugh; Berias supposed it hurt to breathe.  
  
“I hurt you,” he answered, shifting to kneel in a more comfortable position.  
  
Saralegui reached up and patted at Berias’s hair playfully. “You were very obedient, and because of you, my plan worked. Thank you.”  
  
“I know, but… It’s not an excuse,” protested Berias, blinking fast.  
  
“I’ll never make you do it again,” said Saralegui.  
  
“Don’t promise,” said Berias. “If it’s necessary, then—“  
  
“Come here,” said Saralegui abruptly, sitting up. He tugged on Berias’s hair until he moved in the right direction. With his hands shyly touching Berias’s cheeks, he gently nudged him so that their faces were level and said, “I value you above anything in my kingdom, or in any kingdom, or in the whole world.”  
  
“Your Majesty, you don’t need to—“  
  
“Right,” said Saralegui, ignoring him; he tilted his head and pressed his (warm, soft, damp) mouth against Berias’s closed lips.  
  
Everything went still.  
  
After a moment, Saralegui opened his eyes and pulled back, smiling as though nothing at all were _wrong_ with what had just happened. “There,” he said. “I knew _you’d_ never do it, so…”  
  
“What?” asked Berias stupidly.  
  
“It’s okay,” said Saralegui. “I know how you are about propriety, et cetera, but I want you, too. So you don’t have to—“  
  
“No,” said Berias.  
  
Saralegui tilted his head invitingly. “What?”  
  
“This is my fault,” said Berias, standing in haste in an attempt to regain control of the situation. “I’ve misled you.”  
  
Saralegui waited for an explanation with an exaggeratedly patient expression.  
  
“I don’t—I don’t want you,” Berias explained awkwardly. “Not like that.”  
  
Saralegui’s lips parted in amused surprise. “Liar.”  
  
Berias looked away for a second, preparing himself, but when Saralegui said, “Come here and sit down,” he obeyed without question.  
  
“I had hoped,” said Saralegui, “that we would not have to do this today, but I suppose now is as good a time as any.” He sighed. “Let’s have your reasons, Berias. I’m sure you have many.”  
  
Berias hesitated.  
  
“And don’t try to tell me you don’t want me. I know you do.”  
  
Berias folded his hands with a composure he did not feel. “Very well then. A romantic relationship is inappropriate given the relative inequality of our stations.”  
  
“Wrong,” said Saralegui. “The Regulation of Government Act says I can marry whomever I like, and I suppose that extends to extramarital liaisons—“  
  
Berias widened his eyes in disapproving shock, and Saralegui added, “Not that you and I would ever participate in something so degrading as to be called a _liaison_.”  
  
“There is also,” said Berias after a suitably long pause for his censure to be expressed, “the fact that I am your personal bodyguard. How do you think that will look—“  
  
“I’ll reassign you,” said Saralegui promptly. “Though I’ll miss you terribly. Wouldn’t it be torture, not being able to see each other _every moment_ …” He ran his fingers over Berias’s arm and smiled seductively—which he was _far too young_ to know how to do and where was he picking up things like that? certainly not on Berias’s watch—and added, “Don’t you think?”  
  
“You should be looking for someone your own age,” said Berias quickly. “I _raised_ you, for heaven’s sake.”  
  
“It’s not weird,” Saralegui said breathlessly, staring in a rather obvious manner at Berias’s mouth. “Everybody will understand…”  
  
Berias, terrified by the repulsive (breathtaking) thought of _actually giving in_ to the suggestion, extricated himself and went to look out the window. “You’ve been seriously injured, and this is a bad idea, and the answer is still no.”  
  
“Why not?” asked Saralegui, his voice turning crisp around the edges. “What reason can you give for refusing me? What _honest_ reason?”  
  
Berias opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. He opened it again. “None,” he said finally.  
  
“…None? You don’t have a reason?” Saralegui didn’t believe him.  
  
“I don’t have a reason I can give you,” Berias answered, firm. “But I will not participate in such activities. And I refuse to discuss it further.”  
  
He could hear Saralegui fumbling around on the bedside table for his glasses. “What if I order you to participate?” he challenged.  
  
“Then I will obey,” said Berias simply, still staring out the window. “But I will only do what you order me to do, and I don’t think you’ll like it very much. I recommend that you not try that course of action.”  
  
He watched as Saralegui visibly iced over. “Never mind then,” he said, falseness dripping from his tone. “That was badly done of me, wasn't it? Anyway, go away; I need sleep. Someone _shot_ me today.”  
  
Business was business, and they didn’t speak of it. Of course, nothing was the same afterward; they avoided touching, and their silences were strained. Berias was as deferential as ever, naturally, but he felt as though guilt permeated every courtesy he made. Saralegui was far more polite and far less considerate. He went out of his way to acquiesce to any little wish at which Berias might hint, almost as if he felt he _owed_ him, which is how Berias found himself in a dungeon in Shin Makoku, irrationally pleased that Saralegui still—erroneously—believed him invincible.  
  
The young woman who wrapped the wound on his arm was very professional, and the accommodations were as comfortable as could be expected for a foreign national who had made an attempt on the king’s favorite. Berias shrugged and tried to make the best of it when he was subjected to lines of stupid questioning and sermons on Maoh-heika’s stunningly idiotic life philosophy. He submitted to Sir Weller’s moral lectures, because Sir Weller was a loyal and capable man, and Berias admired that. And when Sir Weller demanded to know why he had sent that arrow into his own lord’s delicate chest, he tried to answer in a way he knew Sir Weller would understand.  
  
“Why do you have so much loyalty for Maoh-heika?” he parried.  
  
Sir Weller pressed his lips together and didn’t answer.  
  
“I am the same,” said Berias knowingly. “I am loyal to Saralegui-heika. I cannot lie about those feelings.”  
  
Saralegui came for him, of course, cool and independent and without an entourage or even so much as a bodyguard. The sheer bravado of the act was not lost on Berias; it was an invitation for a scolding, but the fact of the matter was that if Saralegui thought himself perfectly capable of overpowering any potential interlopers, then such was not to be contradicted.  
  
“Your Majesty,” said Berias, standing.  
  
Saralegui allowed the door to swing shut behind him. “Do you want to explain to me why you allowed yourself to be defeated and captured?”  
  
Berias almost smiled. “Has it occurred to Your Majesty that Sir Weller may have simply overpowered me in honorable combat?”  
  
“Nonsense,” said Saralegui with the easiness of unquestioning confidence. “You’re the best—otherwise I wouldn’t have you. Now, answer my question. I didn’t assign you any mission here, and you will not gallivant around without my express consent.” He raised his chin. “You’re needed at home. The rest of the staff is completely worthless, and it’s inconvenient.”  
  
“I am sorry to have inconvenienced you, Your Majesty.” Berias bowed, but he couldn’t help smiling a little at the thought of having been missed.  
  
“Of course you are,” said Saralegui, “but _why_ did you do it?”  
  
Berias opened his mouth and thought quickly. What could he say that would—  
  
“You’re about to _lie_ to me!” gasped Saralegui in indignant astonishment. “Ugh, Berias, you’re so _obvious_!”  
  
“Your Majesty, I—“  
  
Before Berias could speak another word, Saralegui slapped him hard enough to make him stagger back. Catching himself, he knelt and turned his gaze to the floor, composing his features.  
  
“I don’t know why you sneaked into Shin Makoku,” said Saralegui without expression, “but I can’t have you acting on your own.”  
  
Berias had nothing to say.  
  
Saralegui gave a little sigh. “We’ll talk after we get home. So. Let’s go.”  
  
“I cannot go back,” said Berias, looking up.  
  
The fury rose smoothly through Saralegui’s body, starting with the way in which he firmly planted his feet and moving up through the reset shoulders and the forceful eyes. The way those eyes widened made Berias believe for an instant that he was going to be slapped again, but then they narrowed again and Berias knew whatever came next was going to make him wish he’d suffered corporal punishment instead.  
  
Saralegui left. It rained, and the bars in the window let in the lightning and the water, and the telltale hints of Alazon’s houjutsu came in with them. Berias slipped his coat on and rose, buckling on his weapons and rolling his eyes at the truly idiotic decision it had been to allow him to keep them. Suppose he had really been an assassin! He gestured toward the heavy door, and a burst of energy blasted it off its hinges. The green light that suffused the cell winked out as he let his hand drop and calmly walked out into the corridor.  
  
It had been years since he’d last allowed that kind of energy to flow through his fingers. He knew the glamour had fallen off when he’d broken the spell that kept his power hidden, but it was a risk worth taking considering the potential payoff. After he’d seen Alazon, he could take the time to replace the spell piece by painstaking piece, but for now, the only way he could get out of his cell was to use magic.  
  
Alazon wasn’t hard to find. Her spell was pervasive and so intense that he doubted she’d even noticed the small burst of power he’d exerted. He’d even mentally mapped the castle when they’d first brought him here, at least as much as he’d been able, so it was a matter of minutes before he found himself standing in the big double doors to what appeared to be Maoh-heika’s private quarters—of course that was where she would be.  
  
There was a collective gasp. Even Alazon gaped openly. Berias, composed as ever, looked back at her. He eyed the boy she clutched to her side, weighing his chances of effecting an escape.  
  
“Berias-san?” ventured Maoh-heika. “That hair color…”  
  
A quick glance downward reminded him he was blond again, as blond as Alazon and Saralegui. His eyes would be gold, too.  
  
“You escaped?!” Lord von Christ moved toward Berias before Lord von Voltaire stepped forward to stop him.  
  
“No one do anything,” warned the Great Sage.  
  
Alazon recovered before anything else could be done. “Berias!” she said, expressing her surprise primly. “Why are you here?”  
  
There were murmurs as the others in the room realized that she and Berias were previously acquainted.  
  
Berias drew his sword. “Please retreat from this place.”  
  
“Do you know why I am here?” she asked.  
  
“Yes,” he answered seriously.  
  
Alazon narrowed her eyes. “You intend to stop me, even knowing that?”  
  
“I do not intend to let you have Yuuri-heika.”  
  
“Berias!” gasped Sir Weller.  
  
Berias turned to him and said calmly, “Yuuri-heika might be able to save his heart.”  
  
The Maoh babbled in his incomprehension, but Berias turned back to face Alazon and said sternly, “You threw him away, and now you would take such a thing from him?”  
  
Alazon’s eyes widened and narrowed in a rage that was familiar to Berias from this afternoon and from the earliest days of his childhood. Suddenly her eyes caught something behind him, and she started. Berias stiffened.  
  
“What are you doing here, Berias?” asked Saralegui dangerously.  
  
Alazon stared.  
  
Saralegui stepped into the room, too arrogant in his anger to behave rationally. “Get your hands off Yuuri,” he snapped.  
  
Alazon’s eyes widened, and she inhaled audibly, but Berias didn’t dare turn around; he kept his eyes firmly fixed on her. She straightened. “Sara!” She stared for an instant and then let Maoh-heika’s shoulder go, wind swirling around her protectively as she vanished through the open window. The air suddenly felt lighter, as if the world were waking up from something, and everyone in the room was left staring at each other stupidly.  
  
There was a sudden rush of noise and action as Maoh-heika’s retainers hastened to verify his well-being, but Berias stood still, not knowing what to say when he did.  
  
“It’s a lie,” whispered Saralegui. “That… Was that…? Haha-ue…”  
  
There was nothing to be done, so Berias did nothing. He shouldn’t have counted on Saralegui falling into the sleeping spell the way the rest of the castle had; his own power was too strong, and not stiff from disuse as Berias’s was. He could feel Saralegui’s eyes boring into his back.  
  
“Berias,” came the dark, smooth voice. “What is all this? Was that my mother?”  
  
Berias dreaded the reply he had to give.  
  
“Answer me, Berias.”  
  
“That was… my older sister, the queen of Seisakoku,” said Berias slowly. “And”—he turned to face his king—“it was Your Majesty’s mother.”

~*~

Watching Saralegui recoil—shock and disgust and anger and mortification flashing across his face before he schooled it back into its customary cold expression—may have seemed like the most painful possible moment in this humiliating affair; however, it was not. Maoh-heika insisted that everyone sit down at a conference table and explain the details of the matter in short sentences. Berias didn’t even have a chance to button up his coat, and he didn’t dare disrespect the company by occupying himself with something like that in the middle of a meeting, so he felt conspicuous, inappropriately dressed, and uncomfortable.  
  
Saralegui sat primly frozen in a chair at one end of the table and listened to the degrading particulars over and over again—as many times as it took for everyone to understand them—without so much as batting an eyelash. Berias tried to catch his eye several times, and he was snubbed without even the pretense that it was unintentional. Saralegui spoke to him only twice, when his anger got the better of his self-possession, and the words were calm and poisonous. And when he strode out of the room, he made it quite clear that Berias was not to follow.  
  
Maoh-heika exchanged a look with his advisers and then trotted off after him instead.  
  
Berias was not quite sure what to do with himself until Sir Weller politely asked for a few moments of his time. They walked for a long while, not saying anything, and the silence was comfortable. They were alike.  
  
They came to a door where Sir Weller stopped. Both men entered. Berias went to the window to look out for a moment before he turned around. Sir Weller was just inside the door. They stood still, looking at each other.  
  
“Naturally, you are not to be returned to the dungeons,” said Sir Weller. Berias nodded, and he continued, “I will see that you receive a formal apology.”  
  
“There is no reason for that,” said Berias. “Shin Makoku’s actions were entirely appropriate, given the circumstances. And I have certainly had far worse accommodations.”  
  
“Still,” said Sir Weller, “It must have been difficult to do what you did, and I want to thank you on behalf of Shin Makoku… and for myself.”  
  
“I was glad to do it.”  
  
Sir Weller paused, as if choosing his next words carefully. “You saved Yuuri-heika for Saralegui-heika’s sake, didn’t you?”  
  
“Yuuri-heika is a mysterious person,” Berias said slowly. “It seems that Saralegui-heika has not realized it yet, but he is softening toward Yuuri-heika. He may be able to heal Saralegui’s loneliness.”  
  
Sir Weller smiled. “It is true that Yuuri-heika brings warmth to people’s hearts. But,” he tilted his head and smiled apologetically, “that won’t be enough for Saralegui-heika, will it?”  
  
Berias stared at him.  
  
“It certainly ought to be,” he said after a while.  
  
Sir Weller nodded slowly, as if he understood, and moved to stand by Berias at the window. “What ought to be and what is are often not the same,” he said thoughtfully. “You can’t force him to care about someone—and you can’t force him not to care about you.”  
  
Berias exhaled in annoyance. “I can force him to hate me, though. Obviously.”  
  
Sir Weller’s smile turned ironic at the joke. He looked away and asked, “Why do we do it, Berias?”  
  
“To protect them,” Berias said simply. “That is who we are.”  
  
“Ah,” said Sir Weller. “And does hating you make him safer? Because otherwise I don’t see how it could ever, ever be worth it.”  
  
“And I don’t see,” said Berias politely, “that it is any of your business.”  
  
Sir Weller looked uncomfortable.  
  
Berias considered him. “You asked me earlier whether you can truly protect someone without telling him the truth. I believe that at times, a lie is a regrettable necessity. I do not regret what I have done, because it was done in pursuit of the most important goal, and I will do it again if I must. Can you honestly tell me that you have never lied to protect someone?”  
  
“I cannot,” admitted Sir Weller.  
  
Berias looked at him, startled. The intensity on his face was shocking.  
  
“You regret it?” he asked, surprised.  
  
Sir Weller sighed. “I don’t know. It was… I suppose it’s just as you said. It was the right thing to do at the time. But later things changed, and it turned out that I only made everyone unhappy, so…”  
  
“What do you think I should do?” Berias asked.  
  
“Apologize to him,” said Sir Weller. “Swear you’ll never hurt him again. I’m sure you know best what to say. Please do whatever you have to do to make him happy again, because…”  
  
He stopped, thought for a moment, and laughed.  
  
“Well, actually, I don’t know why I care so much about it, except that my own situation is… similar… and I’d like to see yours turn out well. It’s a vicarious sort of thing, I guess.” He grinned.  
  
Berias couldn’t help smiling back. “All right,” he said. “I’ll try.”  
  
They went together to the throne room, where they found their kings conferring about some matter that was likely extremely insignificant. Saralegui appeared to have recovered his self-possession and much of his good humor.  
  
Berias approached the foot of the dais and knelt. Humbly lowering his eyes, he said, “Saralegui-heika.”  
  
No one forbade him from speaking or asked him to leave, so he continued, “For concealing things from Your Majesty, and for once again going against Your Majesty's wishes, I am truly sorry.”  
  
Saralegui still did not answer.  
  
“But,” Berias said, a hint of passion making its way into his voice, “Now and forever, my allegiance is yours. Whatever may happen, I will _absolutely_ be by your side.”  
  
Saralegui rose from his seat and, going down the stairs, went to stand in front of Berias. He paused, then dropped to his knees and put his hands on Berias’s shoulders. “I forgive you,” he said, low enough for only Berias to hear. “And I accept your oath.”  
  
He made Berias rise with him and come to stand behind him on the dais while he continued his conversation with Maoh-heika. Berias longed to speak with him privately and convey his regret in more specific terms. Unfortunately, to hurry away instead of enjoying the hospitality of the Maoh would not be in Saralegui’s best interest politically, so he simply took pleasure in having permission to be by his king’s side again, knowing all who saw it would rightly interpret it as a sign of a return to Saralegui’s favor.  
  
Later, while he helped Saralegui prepare for bed, he reiterated his ardent apologies and thanked his king for publicly honoring him by allowing him to serve.  
  
Saralegui smiled grimly, paused with a brush halfway through his hair, and said, “Just because I forgive you doesn’t mean I’m not angry with you.”  
  
Berias nodded and, pulling the brush away, took over the task. He counted the strokes in the back of his mind while watching the mirror for any sign that he might have pulled too roughly.  
  
“Today was mortifying,” said Saralegui, watching Berias in the glass. “To begin with, you came here without permission. You lied to me, and you defied a direct order, even after I went out of my way to come here for you personally. How must that look, when you fail to show me respect after I risk my appearance of impartiality by showing you favor? What do you expect is being whispered about me _right now_ in the kitchens of every cottage in this city? How much do you think the story will have expanded by the time it makes its way back to Lesser Shimaron?”  
  
He stood and indicated that Berias should begin unbuttoning his coat. “All this is not to mention the even more humiliating experience of this afternoon. You know I dislike being told things about myself—it is insufferable to see other people feeling smug, knowing things I don’t know about my own self—and to have it happen in front of a group of people whose favor I am currently attempting to curry…! Naturally, we all sat around and talked about it for _hours_ and it was _horrible_ and I got so upset that I actually yelled at you in front of them—I’m holding you responsible for that—and I thought I should never be able to show my face again after having lost control of my emotions like that. But of course I had to sit with these very people for the rest of the day and well into the evening, acting as though I had perfectly recovered, and _they pitied me, Berias_.”  
  
By this time, Berias had untied the laces of his waistcoat, and Saralegui paused as the garment was tugged over his head. Berias hung up the clothes and tried to determine whether he was supposed to supply his customary litany of “mmm-hmm”s and “is that so?”s.  
  
Saralegui stood mostly naked, one hand on his hip indignantly and the other arm flung out to the side to accommodate the task of dressing him in his nightclothes. His mouth was drawn up in an appealing pout.  
  
Berias helped him into his nightshirt and said, “Your Majesty is a very poised person. The events of the day were extremely trying, and anyone would have lost his composure. You handled them with as much dignity as could be expected, and I am sure that no one pities you.”  
  
“You sound like an idiot,” snapped Saralegui. “Of course they pity me, and naturally I hold myself to a higher standard than the typical savage in the street. We both know that I was anything _but_ dignified.”  
  
He waited for Berias to turn back the covers before he slid into the bed. Propping himself up among the pillows, he gestured for Berias to stand at his foot and continue to listen.  
  
“You lied to me,” said Saralegui. “Everything you have ever said to me was a lie. I don’t even know what you _look_ like. I don’t even know who you _are_! How am I supposed to decide what parts of you are real and what parts are fake? How can I trust you to protect me? I can’t believe I was stupid enough to fall for such a _trick_ for fifteen years, and now everybody knows how stupid I was! I was the _only one_ who didn’t know, Berias! The _only one_!”  
  
Berias, risking reprimand, knelt next to the bed and rested a hand on Saralegui’s knee, waiting patiently while he yelled. Experience had taught him that Saralegui, when tired and stressed, usually just wanted to say everything he felt and then cry or scream or tear something to pieces—and afterward, he’d be fine, go to sleep, and wake up with renewed poise.  
  
“And I can’t believe you had the nerve to bring up my father in front of them,” Saralegui grumbled, picking up the ends of Berias’s hair and tugging on them distractedly. “As if it weren’t bad enough for them all to know how my mother didn’t want me, they had to hear the details of how my father ignored me for my entire childhood.”  
  
“Saralegui-heika…” Berias touched his hand. “They loved you. Everyone who knows you loves you. They may have behaved terribly to you, but please believe that they loved you.”  
  
“I don’t care for the kind of love that abandons a child,” said Saralegui petulantly. He tugged Berias up onto the bed next to him. “You won’t ever leave me, will you?”  
  
“I will not,” promised Berias. “I’ll swear it as many times as you want to hear it.”  
  
Saralegui made a noncommittal sound that was very distressing—it sounded as though he weren’t sure whether to believe Berias—and he took off his glasses. Putting them on the table next to the bed, he blew out the lamp and said, “Get under the covers; we need to sleep.”  
  
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Berias obediently, pausing to remove those parts of his clothing that were attached to painful buckles and sharp weapons. Saralegui held the covers back for him.  
  
When he was securely in bed, Saralegui reached behind himself to tug Berias’s left arm over his waist. Berias raised an unseen eyebrow in response but thought to save his lord’s feelings by hiding any other reaction. Tucking his other arm under his head, he nestled closer, pulling Saralegui’s body, flushed and warm with anger, against his own cooler form.  
  
Saralegui seemed to relax somewhat. They lay in silence for a long time, until Berias thought Saralegui must be asleep, and then he heard the king mumble, “Berias?”  
  
“Yes, Your Majesty?” he murmured against the king’s ear.  
  
“Do you want know what the worst part of it is?”  
  
Berias hummed yes.  
  
“I was really in love with you,” whispered Saralegui. “Really.”  
  
Berias pressed his forehead to the back of Saralegui’s shoulder. “I know,” he said. “I’m so, so sorry.”  
  
Saralegui’s body shuddered and convulsed as he sobbed big, loud sobs that were anything but elegant and dignified. Berias held him as he cried and cried and cried, getting the pillow damp and turning his eyes red and his skin blotchy. He did not stop crying until he had fallen asleep, his breath evening but still occasionally catching in little hiccups.  
  
Berias did not fall asleep until a long time after that.

~*~

The next morning, Saralegui woke and set about getting ready with enough vigor that Berias was no longer worried about him not having enough energy to spend an entire day pretending to be cheerful and graciously accepting of condolences or other forms of misplaced condescension.

He went about his goal of wooing all of Shin Makoku into an advantageous alliance with self-satisfied confidence, and even had the cheek to waltz into a meeting with Maoh-heika and casually announce his intention of assuming the Greater Shimaron crown.  
  
“Of course it would be a big job,” said Saralegui, “but I’m already preparing for it. I absolutely will accomplish it. And on that subject, I have a request for Shin Makoku. While I am unifying Shimaron, I want you to keep quiet and watch.”  
  
It was difficult not to smile, but Berias managed.  
  
They spoke together later in Saralegui’s room. The king sat on the windowsill with his back to the window, hands folded neatly in his lap. He giggled to himself and made plans, animated and pleased with himself.  
  
“Berias, what’s wrong?” he asked presently. “You look like you want to say something.”  
  
“Yes,” said Berias. “Your Majesty should return to Lesser Shimaron without delay.”  
  
Saralegui frowned at the idea of his plans being spoiled.  
  
“If you stay here,” Berias went on, “inevitably—“  
  
“ _She_ will come,” Saralegui finished. “Do you want to see her, Berias?”  
  
Berias shook his head and looked at his lord seriously. “No. I have cast aside Seisakoku. But for you, Your Majesty…”  
  
Saralegui lifted his chin. “As for me, I never had a mother.”  
  
Berias nodded.  
  
They stood together in the evening and watched the destruction that Alazon wreaked through the city. In the morning, Maoh-heika and Sir Weller came to them, asking them to stay a little longer for the sake of their own safety. The two kings sat in plush-covered chairs, and Berias and Sir Weller hovered around their shoulders, eying the exits.  
  
“I had no idea all this would happen,” said the Maoh, eyes wide to convey his sincerity. “Sorry.”  
  
Berias did not mention that anyone with half a brain could have seen this coming.  
  
“It’s not your fault, Yuuri,” said Saralegui smoothly. “Don’t worry about it.”  
  
“To be honest,” said Maoh-heika, “I didn’t even know what was happening before now. Is it all… do you think… because she came…?”  
  
Saralegui frowned.  
  
Maoh-heika looked uncomfortable and tried to edge around his subject. “I came here to see what you two felt about it. If you should meet Alazon-san again—”  
  
“I will do nothing,” announced Saralegui.  
  
Maoh-heika made a noise of utter mystification.  
  
“I do not wish to interfere in a problem between Seisakoku and Shin Makoku,” shrugged Saralegui.  
  
“I see,” said Maoh-heika. “What about you, Berias-san?”  
  
Berias looked at his king. It was true that Alazon’s business was not with Saralegui or Lesser Shimaron, and if Saralegui wished to cut all personal ties with the Queen of Seisakoku, that was his prerogative.  
  
“I will not run or hide,” said Berias. “Ane-ue and I have parted ways. We may now be on opposite sides—and an opponent who cannot be avoided must be faced. That is what I think.”  
  
Maoh-heika thought about this for a minute.  
  
Meanwhile, Saralegui said nothing. Berias gazed down at him, both admiring his nonchalant demeanor and concerned that he might be harming himself by affecting such aloofness. And then—  
  
Berias looked up suddenly, baring his teeth. He glared out the window over his shoulder.  
  
“Berias-san?” asked Maoh-heika, confused.  
  
“Is Alazon nearby?” asked Sir Weller.  
  
Berias turned back to them. “Yes.”  
  
Saralegui looked up at him, unable to contain a little gasp. Berias offered a hand to help him out of the soft chair, but he didn’t take it.  
  
By this time, Sir Weller and Maoh-heika had bolted from the room, no doubt to confer with the other advisers.  
  
Berias knelt in front of the chair and said, “What do you want to do, Your Majesty?”  
  
“I refuse to let her take Yuuri,” said Saralegui. “He is _mine_ , and anyway it would be a hassle to have to reset all of my plans for Shimaron if there were a new ruler here.”  
  
“Yes,” said Berias. “I doubt Lord von Voltaire would be as easily bent to your will.”  
  
Saralegui shrugged. “I would find a way. Regardless, I am fond of Yuuri, and he’s too charmingly idiotic to be wasted on a woman who obviously does not care for small, helpless things. I can’t allow her to take him.”  
  
He stood on his own and indicated for Berias to accompany him as he left the room.  
  
It was not at all difficult to find the Maoh. The door to the room where the conference was being held was not only unlocked, it was open. The voices could be heard halfway down the hall.  
  
“But I want you to hold back as much as possible. She’s Sara’s mother, too!” Maoh-heika was saying just as Saralegui and Berias walked in.  
  
Everyone looked at them guiltily.  
  
“Yuuri,” said Saralegui beatifically, “there’s no need for you to worry.”  
  
“Sara!” Maoh-heika cried in shock, belatedly noticing their arrival.  
  
“Excuse me,” said Saralegui, bowing his head to hide his smile. “Yuuri, I have a request for you.”  
  
“What is it?” asked Maoh-heika, eager to please.  
  
Saralegui smiled sweetly and calmly. “When you greet the Queen of Seisakoku, may I accompany you?”  
  
Maoh-heika looked surprised, then grinned. “It’s fine with me,” he said.  
  
Saralegui just smiled.  
  
Alazon entered the throne room alone, confident in her power. With her chin held proudly and her eyes full of disdain, she stated her piece without hint of compromise: she would have the Maoh’s power to wield the Shinken, and she did not care what else happened as a result. Maoh-heika’s older brother worried about his safety; she said she regretted the risk, but that it was necessary. Accused of selfishness, she replied coolly, “Protecting one’s country before all else is the duty of a ruler.”  
  
Saralegui closed his eyes as if his head hurt; Berias looked down at him with concern.  
  
Alazon said quite calmly that if Maoh-heika didn’t do as she asked, she would forcibly take him to Seisakoku. She readied her houjutsu and waited with barely restrained desire.  
  
Maoh-heika’s associates’ hands went to their sword hilts, but the Maoh himself, saying that he disliked the idea of watching people suffer, finally agreed to go with her.  
  
Disapproving murmurs filled the room.  
  
“It’s fine!” protested the Maoh. “I won’t die. Probably.”  
  
Alazon offered him the sword, and he descended the steps of the dais to take it.  
  
“I will not give Yuuri to you,” Saralegui whispered hatefully. He stepped forward before Berias could stop him. In an instant, he had come between Maoh-heika and Alazon. His eyes flashed.  
  
The Maoh’s retainers reached for their swords. Berias jumped forward, intimating to Lord von Christ and the Maoh’s older brother with a gesture and a glare that they would be unwise to interfere. Sir Weller lunged toward Saralegui, but not quickly enough: Saralegui grabbed the Shinken and jerked it from its sheath, growling his claim on the speechless Maoh.  
  
As his hand touched the hilt, holy light exploded from the blade. Wind whipped from nowhere, feeding on Saralegui’s fury. Vines burst from the floor, twisting through the room, and a great tree sprang up in its center. The smell of life flooded Berias’s nostrils, and he frowned.  
  
The others in the room muttered in awe.  
  
“He is the child of a Shinzoku and a human,” said Sir von Christ. “Therefore, it is not impossible…”  
  
Berias felt his eyes widen in comprehension. He rapidly scanned Saralegui’s figure, but it hadn’t changed—he didn’t know why he’d expected that.  
  
This was not a good thing. If wielding the sword would be dangerous for Maoh-heika, it could not be safe for Saralegui, and surely Saralegui would never choose the health of a foreign nation over the stability of his own. Yet his right to the Shinken clearly took precedence over anyone else’s.  
  
Alazon looked at him with scorn. “It couldn’t be that _you_ —“  
  
“I…?” Saralegui laughed cynically. “How ironic: that I, whom you abandoned for my lack of houryoku, should have this power.” He narrowed his eyes and smiled. “And this, too, is the power you were seeking, isn’t it?”  
  
The sword flared with energy. Alazon gasped and stared at it hungrily.  
  
“Sara,” said Maoh-heika nervously. “What are you doing? Sara!” He tried to move toward the two of them, but the energy that swirled around them sizzled and snapped at him, and he fell. There was some consternation over him.  
  
Saralegui and Alazon stood still as stones and glared at one another.  
  
“You said that you would do anything in order to protect your country,” said Saralegui. “Well, then. Could you bend your knee to me? Would you beg for my assistance?” He smiled wickedly. “Proud queen! What will you do?”  
  
Alazon extended her hand. “Return the Shinken to me.”  
  
Saralegui’s eyes widened in indignation and fear as he realized she intended to ignore his command.  
  
“I do not need your power,” said Alazon icily. “Only Yuuri-heika’s power can save Seisakoku.”  
  
Berias was almost certain that this was not true.  
  
“Why can’t _I_?!” screamed Saralegui, losing all restraint.  
  
“I will accept only the best to save my country!” said Alazon sternly.  
  
Saralegui was too enraged to breathe properly. He lifted the sword. “This thing—“  
  
“Your Majesty!” commanded Berias. “You mustn’t!”  
  
Shrieking with fury, Saralegui raised the sword to bring it down upon Alazon.  
  
“Stop, Saralegui!” commanded the queen, readying a purple handful of light. “You will return the Shinken! Should you not do so—“  
  
“Ane-ue!” Berias was poised to dart between them. “Are you serious?!”  
  
The others in the room cried out and fussed, sending easily extinguished bursts of fire at the encircling barrier. Berias paid no attention to them; he knew no ordinary method would sever it, and he focused his attention on Alazon, begging her with his eyes not to do this thing. She avoided his gaze.  
  
A sudden rip in the fabric of the barrier made Alazon’s power flicker and die out. Maoh-heika’s ancestral sword had pierced through it, and he advanced toward Saralegui, who stared at him angrily.  
  
“Sara…” said the Maoh with so much compassion that it made even Berias want to smack him across the face.  
  
Saralegui’s eyes flashed. He raised the Shinken over his head, prepared to bring it down on the Maoh’s head. “Don’t get in my way!”  
  
Maoh-heika gasped, frightened, but somehow managed to block the attack with his sword. Saralegui’s glasses went skittering across the floor.  
  
Sir Weller and von Bielefeld moved forward, intending to disarm Saralegui, but Berias put his hands on the hilts of his twin blades and growled. They looked at him uneasily and stopped.  
  
Behind him, the two boys grunted and panted as they strained against one another.  
  
“I’m going to end this myself!” cried Saralegui with a voice full of intent.  
  
“What’re you talking about?” whimpered Maoh-heika. “This isn’t it—isn’t what you want! Don’t you want to face her down? Your mother…?”  
  
“What do _you_ know, Yuuri?” Saralegui hissed. “You, who had a mother’s love and grew up under her protection… There’s no way that you can understand my feelings! Do not get in my way!”  
  
The colors in the room changed.  
  
Maoh-heika spoke very seriously. “You can’t, Sara. I won’t accept your 'suggestion'. I won’t let go of my own will.” There was a pause. Then, “Stop. Lower the sword. Let’s stop this.”  
  
“Give the Shinken to Yuuri-heika,” urged Alazon.  
  
Berias watched as Saralegui looked around in proud helplessness, obviously making every effort not to cry.  
  
“Calm down, Sara!” said Maoh-heika, lifting a hand to put on Saralegui’s shoulder.  
  
“ _Don’t touch me_!” shrieked Saralegui. “I, too, am suited to this sword! I, too, am its true wielder!”  
  
Power flowed around him. Berias _ran_.  
  
He managed to reach Saralegui and fling his arms around him just as the cloud of gold enveloped them.  
  
Berias materialized in the shade of a tree that grew in the middle of a busy intersection. “Your Majesty!” he called, but Saralegui was not to be found, no matter how wildly he whirled around, looking.  
  
Calming himself, he jogged down the street, peering into side streets and alleys, ignoring the handful of people who might have noticed his alarm. He kept his ears open for any unexpected sound and his skin aware of any change in the area’s energy balance. For several long minutes, he searched without any sign of his master, his heart beating more and more rapidly as his fear grew.  
  
Suddenly, a blaze of light pierced the sky. He stopped short and changed direction, aiming for the center of the gold radiance that diffused throughout the city streets.  
  
A building blocked his way. Rather than go around the entire row of stone houses, he ran up a set of stairs that led to the roof. The sky filled up with the gold light of the Shinken, and Saralegui knelt on the ground, gasping for breath and laughing with delight.  
  
Alazon was advancing on him, enraged, screaming bestial sounds that made Saralegui whirl around, terrified. Berias threw himself off the roof, arms shielding his face, just as a bolt of menacing violet that was unquestionably bound for Saralegui pierced her from behind.  
  
Landing on his feet sent a jolt of pain through his legs, but he stumbled to Saralegui.  
  
“Berias!” Saralegui was evidently surprised and relieved to see him.  
  
Berias only breathed, “Your Majesty…”  
  
Saralegui made a little sound, and Berias looked him over with concern. He seemed all right, just stunned, but—  
  
An ugly sound from behind the king made Berias lift his head. His older sister stood motionless, choking on the power that she held back.  
  
“Ane-ue!” he said, surprised. He had thought that she would have been able to…  
  
“Berias, hurry!” she whimpered.  
  
He nodded and intended to go to her, but Saralegui looked stricken.  
  
“Hurry up!” coughed Alazon, her eyes contracting with pain.  
  
“Ane-ue!” he cried, but it was too late. She lost control, and the purple tentacle of energy sent her crashing forward with a howl of pain. Saralegui was too stunned to move, so Berias leapt in front of him, flinging his arms around him and pushing him to safety on the ground.  
  
Then he was on top of Saralegui, biting his lip with concern, because a stone road was hardly the place he’d wanted his king to smash his head open. Saralegui made an “oof” sort of sound and nudged Berias up so he could flip over and lie on his stomach, resting his forehead on his arm. Berias figured that at least meant his neck wasn’t broken.  
  
He scrambled off him and crawled to his knees where he could better observe. Saralegui was in a state of shock and almost in tears. He helped Saralegui rise and said, “Your Majesty, are you hurt?”  
  
“No,” Saralegui sobbed.  
  
Berias glanced back at Alazon. “Your Majesty, please stay right here,” he said, and ran to his sister’s side, calling her “Ane-ue!” in hope that she would respond.  
  
She was propped up against a wall, blood running down her face. He knelt next to her and tried to assess her condition, but it was plain that even a skilled healer could do nothing for her now. She could only be made more comfortable in her last moments.  
  
“It’s a lie,” mumbled Saralegui, who had obviously not stayed where he was put, from Berias’s side. “There’s no way you would save me.” He paused for a moment, then added, “You just wanted to protect the Shinken.”  
  
Alazon raised one hand weakly, as if to touch Saralegui’s face. He flinched.  
  
“Sara…” she whispered.  
  
Berias put a gentle hand on her back to prop her up while she stretched. Saralegui froze in terror. Her hand almost reached to stroke his face or hair before it fell limply to the ground with a wet, dead sound. She slumped in Berias’s arms, and his heart froze.  
  
He couldn’t stop to feel sad in the middle of chaos, and he regretted it just a tiny, melancholy little bit.  
  
“No,” said Saralegui firmly. “It’s a lie. It’s a lie! It has to be a lie!”  
  
Berias caught Saralegui’s hand and tugged him to his knees. Together, they leaned over Alazon’s body while Berias extended his palm to pour white light into her chest.  
  
Saralegui watched anxiously, on the verge of tears. “Why…?” he whimpered.  
  
Berias grunted questioningly. To what was his lord referring?  
  
“Why did you save me?” Saralegui clarified. “You threw me away, didn’t you? And now… Now, why? I can’t do anything.” He put his hands over his eyes, and his glasses, which he must have recovered when they left the throne room, fell to the ground at his knees. “This power is useless. I can’t do anything… I can’t save anyone.”  
  
Berias continued his work silently. Saralegui was upset and would no doubt require attention, but the shock would be less scarring if it did not involve watching the death of this woman. Berias was certain that he would never be able to make Saralegui believe that Alazon had ever cared for him, but as long as she lived, he could hope that she might be able to realize her mistake and try to show the boy that she did love him. And Saralegui had been in so much pain, and if there were a chance for him to heal…  
  
A gold light made its way over the tops of the houses and into the street. Berias and Saralegui looked up, startled, to see the figure of some great god benevolently conquering the dark energy. The glowing drops of the Shinken’s power fell like snow all over the city, reinvigorating everything they touched.  
  
One fell into Saralegui’s palm. Gently, he laid it on the hilt of the sword, and it flared to life again. He held the Shinken over Alazon, waiting with parted lips to see what would happen. Berias watched all this, hoping desperately that Saralegui would not be disappointed.  
  
It would be sad if she died before Berias had the chance to make up with her.  
  
“Ane-ue!” he said urgently, and she gasped back into the world, opening her eyes.  
  
She called for her son first, and he extended a hand to her cautiously, allowing her to touch him for a brief moment before he nodded at Berias. Berias picked her up, and, with Saralegui closely shadowing his steps, carried her back to the palace.  
  
She closed her eyes and leaned against his shoulder. It was strange to see her like this: he had been young when they parted, and it had never occurred to him that she might have any weakness. To him she had always been tall and strong and authoritative, a superior that must not be gainsaid—and when he had gainsaid her, she had excised him from her life.  
  
Berias deposited her in the care of the capable healer who had worked on his arm a few days ago and then led a still-stunned Saralegui to the guest wing of the palace, where he undressed him, forced him through the motions of a bath, and carried him to bed. During the process, he managed to get a few words of explanation out of the boy—at least enough to piece together what had happened in the alley, and who had been the source of that dark power.  
  
Figuring that the uproar in the castle would be too great for anyone to bother about them until morning, he wrapped himself around Saralegui’s bath-damp body and slept, exhausted from exertion, stress, and the expense of energy he’d used in his vain attempt to heal his sister.  
  
Berias did not awake with the sun the next day; in fact, it was Saralegui’s rough shove against his shoulder that jerked him into consciousness. He opened his eyes to see Saralegui kneeling on the bed beside him, dressed except for the lacings that he couldn’t reach.  
  
“I did all the parts I could by myself,” he explained. “But you have to tie these ones.”  
  
Berias blinked the sleep out of his eyes and gently turned Saralegui around so he could lace his waistcoat. Saralegui had tried to put up his own hair, too, and it had lumps in the back, so Berias took it down again and tied it up properly. He wanted so badly to lean forward and suck on the skin at the nape of Saralegui’s neck, but he would hardly have been a dependable vassal if he hadn’t even _that_ much self-control.  
  
“Berias,” said Saralegui as Berias worked the tangles out of his hair with his fingers, “Why did you fight with Haha-ue?”  
  
“I thought I explained it properly before,” said Berias, surprised. “I believed that she had chosen the wrong path, and she told me that if I was going to question her, she would rather I leave.”  
  
“Yes, I know,” said Saralegui impatiently, “but that’s not what I meant. I mean, why did you question her?”  
  
“Because she was wrong,” Berias answered.  
  
“Ah,” said Saralegui. “That is exactly my point. You thought that you knew better than she did, did you not?”  
  
“I suppose so.”  
  
“But she was your older sister and your queen.”  
  
“…Yes.”  
  
“And yet you felt you had the right to disagree with her,” Saralegui mused. “But haven’t you always taught me that the lord is the head of the servant? That a ruler must be the conscience of the ruled, taking responsibility for their moral development so that they are free to serve him with clean souls? Isn’t it true that the sky must bear down while the earth upholds, that if the earth attempts to overtake the functions of heaven, the seasons will stop and nature will lose her sustenance?”  
  
“All these things are true,” said Berias, pinning the final strand of hair into place. “I anticipate that you will next ask whether I do not actually follow this philosophy, or whether there was some circumstance that removed Ane-ue from her proper position as ruler?”  
  
“I _had_ intended to ask,” said Saralegui coolly, scooting off the bed. He took the Shinken off the desk where Berias had tossed it last night and began clumsily belting it to his side.  
  
Berias went and knelt at his side to help. “There were no such circumstances,” he said. “It is only that I was very young, and I did not trust her. She was young, too, and she was not worthy of my trust. I hope—“ he looked up at Saralegui seriously—“always to serve someone in whom I can safely place my faith. Someone wise, whom I can obey without question.”  
  
“And I hope you find him,” said Saralegui smoothly. He strode to the door and opened it. “Because I think you will make _him_ a very fine retainer.”  
  
In two steps, Berias had crossed the room and grasped the edge of Saralegui’s sleeve. “What do you mean, Your Majesty?”  
  
Saralegui shrugged. “Only that you obviously do not trust _me_. Let’s go; I’m sure there’s plenty of mess to deal with.”  
  
There _was_ plenty of mess. Luckily, the Great Sage seemed well equipped to handle most of it, but Berias and Saralegui were required to sit through one boring consultation after another. They were very well behaved; Saralegui smiled incessantly, and Berias managed not to roll his eyes even once. To tell the truth, most of the time, he wasn’t even listening; he was reflecting on the conversation they’d had this morning.  
  
They took a break later in the day to plot strategy (i.e., Berias made affirmative interjections into Saralegui’s monologue) and returned in time to hear Alazon protesting that she was no longer worthy of her position.  
  
“No. You are Seisakoku’s queen,” said Berias, entering the room quickly and kneeling at her feet. He ignored the twittering of those he’d surprised with his entrance and looked straight at Saralegui when he said, “There is no ruler other than you. I acted rashly, without understanding your pain. Please forgive me… Ane-ue.”  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut and caught his breath again.  
  
“Berias...” Alazon smiled.  
  
“You want to save the people of Seisakoku, don’t you?” asked Saralegui, stepping forward with the Shinken before she could actually answer Berias’s apology. “I’ll use this.”  
  
“Is it all right?” asked Alazon, worried. “After what I did to you—“  
  
“Don’t mistake my meaning,” said Saralegui, smiling sweetly. “This isn’t for your sake. As the king of Lesser Shimaron, I wish to aid the distant land of Seisakoku.”  
  
He turned on his heel and strode haughtily out of the room, but he was stopped in the doorway when Maoh-heika said, “Sara… Um, um…! Sara was just as good a wielder of the Holy Sword all along, wasn’t he?”  
  
Everyone stared at him.  
  
“But the reason you didn’t want him to,” continued Maoh-heika, warming to the idea, “was that he would be in danger by using the sword, wasn’t it?”  
  
Berias exchanged a look with Alazon. Such a thought had obviously never occurred to her.  
  
Maoh-heika beamed. “You weren’t mad, it’s just… any mother would feel that way, wouldn’t she? You are a mother, after all, Alazon.”  
  
Saralegui walked out before the shaking in his shoulders could melt into sardonic laughter.

~*~

It wasn’t a question of whether Saralegui was angry; it wasn’t even a question of _why_ he was angry. The king was perfectly justified in feeling whatever displeasure he thought appropriate, and indeed Berias was hardly in a position to protest even had he not believed such measures entirely beneath him. He only wished he knew what exactly he was expected to do in response.  
  
He knew perfectly well that he wouldn’t be told. After all, a truly devoted retainer ought to be able to anticipate and act accordingly—so Saralegui seemed to believe, though Berias ordinarily in these situations pointed to the inefficiency of such a policy.  
  
Just now, however, Berias reckoned he was better off attempting to prove his devotion than attempting to influence for the better his young lord’s naturally fastidious temperament. After all, persons who publicly humiliated and lied to their charges had no right to parent them.  
  
He hoped his guilt would neither cause him to lose his usual self-possession nor prevent him from carrying out his protective duties. Saralegui, helpfully, seemed sweetly determined to make this as difficult as possible.  
  
After extended goodbyes with Maoh-heika, they boarded the ship. Alazon excused herself to arrange her room. Berias followed his lord, expecting to assist him.  
  
“Berias?” Saralegui asked, blinking innocuously at him. “What are you doing?”  
  
Berias quickly glanced around. What was he missing?  
  
“Your room is _that_ one,” said the king, indicating a room that was across the hall and therefore could not possibly connect to his own, which would make constant surveillance somewhat challenging.  
  
Berias raised an eyebrow.  
  
Saralegui glanced elegantly over his shoulder as he pushed open the door to his room. “It’s all right, Berias; I don’t need you,” he said cheerfully. “Please take the rest of the day off.”  
  
Never mind that there was nothing to do on the ship _other_ than wait on Saralegui, nor that it was completely unacceptable for him to go unattended. A valet may be a luxury; an adviser need not be always at hand; a king may not wish for the constant companionship of even his favorite confidant—but a bodyguard he must have, and yet Berias was to be left standing in the hall.  
  
“Your Majesty,” he said, catching hold of his arm, “is something the matter? Are you upset about something?”  
  
His Majesty beamed like the winter sun. “Not at all, Berias,” he said. “I simply feel that it cannot be right to take advantage of your devotion when it is unnecessary. Please enjoy your afternoon.”  
  
He spoke quickly and had the door shut behind him before Berias could protest that his attentions were surely not unnecessary.  
  
It was true that he had done extensive background research on each member of the ship’s crew, and naturally he had himself made a thorough search of the ship for explosives, stowaways, and other potential safety hazards. Still… the unexpected could always happen. Saralegui could not always be trusted to act in the interest of his own personal safety, and Berias felt uneasy about Alazon.  
  
She had acted to save the boy’s life only a few days earlier, and Berias had once known her quite well—but that had been years ago, and countless things had changed. Alazon seemed wilder, less scrupulous somehow, and Berias had learned what it meant to say no. Saralegui had grown into a clever and resourceful young man with a strong will and surprisingly clear priorities—though this, in Berias’s opinion, was neither due to Alazon nor due to her erstwhile spouse. The most that could be said they had done for their son was donate good looks, an unstable political situation, and a certain sensitivity that sprang from the experience of being firmly and decidedly unwanted.  
  
Berias knelt beside Saralegui’s door with his sword in easy reach and waited.  
  
At dinnertime, the door opened. The skirts of Saralegui’s robes moved gracefully as he stepped out; he never seemed to get caught in doors or on loose nails any more, though Berias hadn’t noticed when this change had manifested—perhaps this was another gift from Alazon.  
  
“I told you that your time was your own,” he said.  
  
Berias nodded and rose to follow him.  
  
“Was I unclear?” asked Saralegui.  
  
“Not at all,” Berias answered. “I understood Your Majesty's instructions to mean that I was to spend the time in whatever activity brought me the most satisfaction. Did I misunderstand?”  
  
Saralegui studied him for a moment, cool eyes veiled again by those infuriating lavender lenses. “You did not,” he said finally, and he floated up the stairs to the main desk.  
  
Dinner with Alazon was a farce of ridiculous proportions. Saralegui smiled charmingly and skillfully kept the conversation focused on topics of general interest and questions of specific diplomatic import—the sorts of things he would discuss with any head of state whose country he happened to be visiting. Thankfully, Alazon seemed to have no interest in personal matters, so Berias had the great pleasure of watching the two persons he knew to be most skilled at diplomatic arts hate each other with perfect serenity and good will over a flawless table service for a very long two hours.  
  
When it was over, Alazon detained him for a moment. He looked to Saralegui for permission and was shocked to receive only a rather inattentive wave of an elegant hand in response.  
  
“Berias,” said Alazon, “I want to speak with you about my son.”  
  
She invited him to walk with her along the deck. Berias complied with some gladness, though he was still grieved over his lord’s indifference. Walking was one of his great pleasures, and he knew it was one of Alazon’s, as well; at home, she’d always loved to walk along the shore of the sea.  
  
Now the personal inquiries were made and answered, Alazon wishing to satisfy herself that her progeny had been offered every luxury appropriate to his station and every opportunity for improvement that could possibly be procured. Berias had no difficulty assuring her that Saralegui’s material wants had been more than adequately provided. He was somewhat sorry to find that she expressed no interest in the boy’s state of happiness, though she did inquire about his moral upbringing.  
  
This Berias could easily lay forth, having been forced by Gilbert-heika’s total disinterest to educate the child in such matters himself. Saralegui was still not quite cured of certain attitudes instilled in him by the privileges of his position in life and the early, uninhibited years of his childhood, but this fact he did not mention to Alazon, except to say modestly, in the most general terms, that of course Saralegui was as far from perfection as any other boy of his age. At any rate, it would be a betrayal of a most infamous kind to detail his lord’s weaknesses to a woman who had never cared enough to ascertain his favorite color or the names of his pets.  
  
After Alazon had received the information she desired concerning His Majesty, she asked a few questions about the state of Lesser Shimaron—perhaps to see where Berias’s answers differed from Saralegui’s; Berias made certain that they did not—and finally about Berias himself.  
  
She seemed a little freer when they spoke of their childhood together. “Someday the land will be beautiful and full of life again,” she informed him earnestly. Here was her real passion, and he could hear it in the warmth of her voice and see it in the way her eyes lit up. He wanted to ask why she dreamt of the past instead of loving the beauty that infused the present, but she had always been a woman who did not forgive disrespect, and her recent acceptance of him, he felt, was tenuous.  
  
Instead he said, “Ane-ue has made only very practical observations this evening. I think she has grown even wiser with age,” to which she replied, “And you, Berias, have become quieter and colder than I. I am glad to see that you have been more faithful to Saralegui than you were to me.”  
  
Berias made a sound meant to be interpreted as indicating agreement. He did not see that he was so very cold; after all, he cared very deeply for Saralegui, to the point that words could only detract from his feeling, and while he may no longer deliver the impassioned diatribes his sister remembered from his teenage years, he had replaced them with actual work performed in the name of his ideals, which was surely an improvement. A reserved man was not necessarily a heartless one; he could show his sympathies in a thousand more ways than he could tell of them.  
  
Alazon smiled a tight, controlled smile and added, “I mean it. Banishing you was the best thing I could do for him.”  
  
It occurred to Berias then that perhaps his sister was not so very indifferent to her son as she had given them all cause to believe. Thus, he graciously refrained from mentioning that his choice to exile himself and subsequently beg Gilbert-heika for useful work could hardly be considered a favor Alazon had performed for her child.  
  
After an hour or so of stilted conversation, Berias was dismissed. A knock on Saralegui’s locked door received no answer, so Berias planted himself firmly outside it and waited.  
  
His lord, who knew him perhaps too well and was not nearly as patient as Berias could be, opened the door five minutes later with a huff.  
  
“I knew you’d still be here.” Saralegui stood with one hand on a cocked hip. He was dressed for bed. “I don’t need you,” he continued, “as you can see. There’s no reason you can’t spend the evening conversing with Alazon, or whatever you like.”  
  
Berias nodded once, wondering how on earth Saralegui had managed to undress himself, and made no move to leave.  
  
Saralegui sighed loudly. “Berias! I want you to sleep in your own room. _All night_. I’m perfectly capable of defending myself, should the need arise, and the door locks. Do you understand?”  
  
Berias nodded.  
  
“And you’ll do as I say?”  
  
“Of course—“ he began to say, but shut his mouth almost immediately. Maybe it could no longer be considered a matter of course that Berias would obey. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said instead, respectfully as always.  
  
“Good night then,” said Saralegui with the kind of gentle sweetness that generally masked his fury.  
  
“Good night,” he responded, but the door was already shut and locked. Audibly. There was nothing for it but to find a few of the more reputable-looking members of the crew and reassign them from whatever their current duties were to the task of guarding Saralegui’s door. Berias liked their captain—he seemed trustworthy enough—so the thing was accomplished in ten minutes.  
  
Saralegui would not be pleased, but he could not accuse Berias of either insubordination or negligence, and, most importantly, he would be safe. Berias had vowed to Gilbert-heika that he would protect the child, not that he would pander to his every whim. And wasn’t he himself a prince in his own right? Yet, this was not trust, not the behavior of a loyal servant. He must either accept his lord’s dominion or refuse it, but he feared for Saralegui’s safety if left at the mercy of his own adolescent judgment.  
  
They arrived in Seisakoku waters a little after dawn. Berias watched from his cabin window as they sailed along the rocky shoreline to the harbor of the capitol. He remembered when this land had been thickly forested and the sea passage hidden by a woven maze of intricate protective spells, and he remembered the later years of emptiness.  
  
When the hour was suitable for Saralegui to arise, he dismissed the guards and knocked on the door, intending to wake and assist him in preparing for the day. When the door opened, however, he was already fully dressed. He must have been up for nearly an hour, Berias figured, struggling to get into it by himself. He had also brushed his own hair, though he did allow Berias to help him on with his boots.  
  
“We’ll arrive at the capitol by noon,” Berias informed him. “Ane-ue said she’s sent a pigeon ahead to inform them of our arrival. She expects they’ll have accommodations for us on land.”  
  
“Oh,” said Saralegui coldly. “How kind of Haha-ue to inform you. No doubt her neglect to inform _me_ was merely an unfortunately oversight. We must forgive her, Berias; she is likely very distracted by matters relating to her own nation and cannot be bothered to observe protocol.”  
  
Berias had nothing to say to this, but later, when he was pinning up the front of Saralegui’s hair, he risked asking whether there was not, after all, something bothering him.  
  
He smiled at Berias in the mirror. “Certainly not. You seem worried, though; is there something you wanted to talk about?”  
  
Berias shook his head. If Saralegui refused to acknowledge that something was wrong, he could do nothing to remedy it. Berias knew him very well, but he could hardly read his mind.  
  
They arrived on schedule and were received by an enthusiastic crowd of malnourished blond peasants. Alazon, queenly as ever, acknowledged their reception with a light bow of her head. “Berias, you will accompany me this afternoon to see about the restoration of order,” she said. “It has been many years since I was last here, and I fear that things have not been properly kept up. The most auspicious time of day for replacing the sword has passed, so we will deal with that tomorrow.”  
  
Berias looked at his king, then at his sister. Both waited calmly for his response.  
  
“Ane-ue,” he said finally, “with all respect, I am not at liberty to determine my own schedule.”  
  
“Oh, no,” said Saralegui sweetly, “if Haha-ue needs you, you must go with her. I know how eager you must be to spend time with her and, naturally, to see the country you both love so much.”  
  
Berias had never expressed a desire to do either of these things and was rather indignant at being accused of having such feelings, but he only nodded and went to stand by Alazon at the railing.  
  
She had been right about things being in disorder; the royal palace had been shut up, except for a few rooms in which the caretaker had lived. Everything was dusty, and rats and dead leaves had come in through broken shutters. There were no rooms suitable for Saralegui to inhabit, Berias informed her, and she should not stay in such filth, either. It would not be seemly. Berias was quite firm on this point. Alazon sent him to find a place to stay in the city while she had long talks with the palace caretaker and her royal regent.  
  
People openly stared at him. He supposed they knew perfectly well who he was and were wondering about the color of his hair. Well, let them wonder. This was not his country any longer, and he felt no need to disguise that fact by returning to his former pale hair and national costume.  
  
He was hard-pressed to find lodgings that were both secure and appropriately comfortable, notwithstanding the fact that Alazon and her government had an excellent reputation for paying bills promptly and in full.  
  
Part of the difficulty was alleviated when Alazon sent word that she would be staying at the palace in spite of his objections; there was work to be done, and she likely would not sleep at all. The crew, of course, would remain on the ship, but it was necessary for His Majesty to stay a conveniently short distance from the palace, and it would certainly be more comfortable to sleep on land.  
  
Berias found a room that would do and sent word to the ship. The location wasn’t as safe as he would have liked, but they’d be together, and at least Saralegui’s identity hadn’t been broadcast. Folk on the street would know him for one of their own, of course; they’d think him the young son of some nobleman, come to town to do homage to their newly returned queen.  
  
The innkeeper recognized Berias, though; he supposed dark hair wasn’t enough to distract from his formerly familiar face. There was quite a bit of bowing and florid, honorific speech. It was sickening. The landlord and all his employees insisted on procuring the best of everything for their prince and his companion, and though Berias knew how much it would cost, he couldn’t deny the man an opportunity to make a great deal of money. He doubted there were many travelers any more, at least not ones who could afford scented baths and imported sweetmeats. Besides, Saralegui would expect them.  
  
Still, it felt wrong to experience such luxury when he knew that none of it came from this empty, dead land. Why hadn’t they abandoned it years ago? Why continue to try to force life into a desert when a good living could be had a day’s journey over the sea?

~*~

Evening brought with it more meetings and consultations, and it was not until late that Berias returned to the inn. He bathed and dismissed the soldiers who stood outside the door to their room, informing them that they would likely be set to return to Lesser Shimaron by tomorrow noon, Saralegui having politely turned down Alazon’s invitation for a longer visit. He had already been too long away from his own country, he had explained, and Alazon could hardly be expected to entertain guests in the expected manner while attempting to rebuild a nation. Alazon, who had probably not really wanted to host the necessary introductory parties and plan dinners and operas that would not shame her people before the king of a wealthy trading partner—she had never cared for social frivolities—had not pressed the issue.  
  
Saralegui had locked the door. He was curled up in the window seat, leaning against the window, when Berias unlocked it and came in. He was still in a loose robe from the bath, and his hair was piled up on top of his head and fastened with large ivory clips. Hunger inundated Berias’s heart and mouth—it had a literal, physical _taste_ —when he saw that slender neck, pale and vulnerable and cold. He wanted to nuzzle into it and nibble the skin there, behind Saralegui’s ear, to make Saralegui cry out in chaste, naïve uncertainty.  
  
Saralegui lifted his head when Berias came in, gesturing for him to come closer; Berias locked the door and went to kneel at his feet. “How was your day?”  
  
His Majesty pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “It was fine,” he said neutrally. “I explored the city. What did you do?”  
  
“Meetings,” said Berias. “Cleaning out the palace.”  
  
They studied each other for a moment.  
  
“I’m sorry I’ve made you angry,” Berias said sincerely.  
  
Saralegui smiled. “I told you I’m not angry.”  
  
“But I know you,” said Berias. “You act warmer and more polite when you’re angry. Your voice gets higher, and you laugh too much.”  
  
“My voice gets higher?” Saralegui asked, intrigued.  
  
Berias nodded. “When you hide things, your voice changes.”  
  
“And I try to hide anger, you’re implying?” Saralegui sounded amused. “I suppose it makes sense. I suppose I’m not over-fond of displaying any emotion—at least not the real ones—but I don’t need to tell _you_ that, Berias; you’re the one who taught me to be cold this way.”  
  
“Will you forgive me?” asked Berias seriously, looking up at his lord’s sardonic smile.  
  
“That depends,” said Saralegui. “What are you sorry for?”  
  
“For not trusting you,” he answered promptly. “I—I—I can’t help thinking of you as a child sometimes, but you’re not, anymore. Your life is more important to me than your favor, and… But you’re old enough now to decide for yourself what’s best for you. It’s hard to move from the role of tutor to obedient manservant. I _will_ try. You will see every day how much better I can be.”  
  
Saralegui looked down at him and said, very quietly, “I had thought of leaving you here, actually.”  
  
Berias felt his eyes widen in shock. “Why?” he asked, leaning forward and looking earnestly up into Saralegui’s face.  
  
“Because I can’t have you around me unless you trust me without reserve,” Saralegui answered. He walked over to the bed and flung himself down on it with his arms wide, as if to embrace the ceiling. “Because I can’t stand knowing you know everything about me while I know nothing about you.”  
  
Berias double-checked the locks and went to sit next to Saralegui on the bed. “What is it that you want to know about me?” he asked.  
  
“Everything,” said Saralegui immediately. “What color is your hair, really?”  
  
“Same as yours,” said Berias, pulling off his boots. “I had eyes like yours, too. But I like them the colors they are now. Blond hair reminds me of when I used to be naïve and idealistic.”  
  
Saralegui laughed. “You’re still idealistic, Berias. It’s just that you know how to make your ideals real, now, so they don’t seem like ideals, right?”  
  
Berias smiled. “I suppose so.”  
  
“Well then,” said Saralegui, lounging on a pillow, “why _did_ you sneak into Shin Makoku? It was to see Haha-ue, right? And Sir Weller didn’t really defeat you, did he?”  
  
“Well.” Berias sprawled on his stomach and shoved a pillow under his chin. “It wasn’t exactly to see her. It was just that I knew you cared for Maoh-heika, and I thought he would be a good match for you. I knew what Alazon intended to do with him and thought I should intervene. Saralegui-heika, you do know that the ceremony tomorrow could drain your energy to the point that it seriously affects your health—“  
  
“I know,” said Saralegui impatiently. “Anyway, what were you thinking, trying to set me up with Yuuri? He’s got his own nation to look after, and besides, he has the mental capacity of a petunia. He’s sweet and strange and fun to play with, but really, Berias, I’ve seen enough of the world to know better than to marry someone I can’t help but patronize.”  
  
“Nevertheless,” said Berias, “I knew you would be unhappy if he were injured. And Sir Weller did defeat me; I did not use magic, so it was a fair fight.” He rolled over onto his back and glanced at Saralegui out of the corner of his eye. “Anything else you want to know?”  
  
“Yeah,” sighed Saralegui, lying back alongside him. “Did you like it when I kissed you?”  
  
“Yes,” Berias breathed, not daring to lie.  
  
“I thought so,” said Saralegui. “Why did you let me… That is, why… Oh, Berias, it’s so _humiliating_.” He turned onto his side and buried his face in Berias’s pillow. “Why didn’t you tell me everything _before_ I fell in love with you?”  
  
“Please don’t say… things like that,” said Berias miserably. “I’m sure you’re not really—“  
  
“Don’t ever tell me what I am and what I’m not!” Saralegui’s defiant voice was muffled. “I think you’ve done quite enough of _that_ for some time. Besides, it’d be true whether you let me say it or not. How can I help it? You’re perfect.”  
  
Saralegui propped himself up on one elbow and leaned over Berias, staring with an intensity Berias had seen practiced on court officials and diplomats. That look nearly always won for Saralegui whatever he wished, and when it didn’t, he used his more esoteric abilities.  
  
“Has anyone ever been able to say no to you?” Berias asked with a smile.  
  
“Nope.” Saralegui pushed his falling glasses back up the bridge of his nose.  
  
“Please don’t make me stay,” Berias begged, placing a hand on the small of Saralegui’s back to keep him close.  
  
Saralegui smiled. “Do you trust me?”  
  
“Absolutely,” said Berias fervently.  
  
The smile grew into a grin. “Will you prove it?”  
  
“What do you want me to do?”  
  
Saralegui stopped smiling and looked at him very seriously. “Marry me.”  
  
“What?” Berias whispered.  
  
“You heard,” Saralegui said gravely. He crawled off Berias’s chest and slid under the covers next to him, arranging the pillows so that their heads would be close together.  
  
“That’s insane,” said Berias firmly.  
  
“I know,” said Saralegui smugly. “Do it anyway.” He shoved and tugged and prodded until Berias got the hint and burrowed under the covers next to him.  
  
“Would you really,” asked Berias, “want a man who was so blinded by you that he’d make irrational decisions at your request?”  
  
“Yes,” said Saralegui decisively. “Don’t you trust me to make good decisions?”  
  
“Is this a good decision?” asked Berias, looking him in the eye.  
  
“Does it matter to you?” returned Saralegui. He pressed a kiss to Berias’s arm and snuggled close against him.  
  
Berias edged away. “I think it would be better if I slept on the floor.”  
  
“No,” said Saralegui hastily. “I’ll be good.”  
  
Berias considered.  
  
“You don’t really want to,” said Saralegui. He was right, but maybe that in itself should be worrisome. Then again, there was no sense in starting a fight, which such an outright rejection was sure to do.  
  
“All right,” Berias answered, “but only if you’ll be good.”  
  
“I will be,” said Saralegui sweetly, blessedly curled up on his own side of the bed. “But you know, Berias, I won’t change my mind.”  
  
Berias sighed. “Your Majesty… please at least allow me to think about it.”  
  
“Of course, Berias.” Saralegui gave a bitter laugh. “I’d hate to _force_ you.”  
  
Berias smiled wryly. “You couldn’t force me.”  
  
“Couldn’t I?” Saralegui sat up so he could face Berias. “I’ll be sure to lay out your _choices_ explicitly then. When I leave tomorrow, you’ll either accompany me as my consort, or you’ll stay here with people who you clearly love more than me. Then I shall never to have to be humiliated by your sympathy again.”  
  
“Your Majesty!” Berias sat up, alarmed.  
  
“Don’t think for a moment that I’m not serious,” Saralegui said. “I’ve said everything I have to say to you. I’m not going to wait around mooning after something I can’t have. If you won’t be with me, I don’t want you there, taunting me with your inaccessibility.”  
  
Berias was stunned. “I—Yes, Your Majesty. I understand.”  
  
“Coward,” muttered Saralegui, turning onto his side so Berias couldn’t see his face.  
  
“Good night, Your Majesty.” Berias tried to put as much kindness as he could into the words, but they went unanswered.  
  
At the moment the first beams of sunlight pierced the horizon, Berias woke. He slid out from under the covers and pulled the drapes closed; there was no need for them to rise early, and it was best if Saralegui slept. Berias lay on his side with his head propped up on one arm, watching in the not-quite blackness. Saralegui had rolled over into the night and moved into the position in which he typically slept: curled into a ball on his right side with his hands tucked under his pillow. His lips pouted into a little frown.  
  
It was all Berias could do not to reach out and stroke his fingertips across the smooth cheek, but he selfishly wanted to keep the boy asleep for as long as possible. He focused on every sense in turn—sight, sound, touch—noticing and memorizing as many details as possible.  
  
He didn’t have enough time.  
  
The sun had come up and was already halfway to its zenith before Berias realized that there would never be enough time. He dressed and combed the tangles from his long hair, then went downstairs to fetch breakfast. He’d had in mind something like bread and jam, but the innkeeper had prepared trays of petit fours and tiny quiches. Berias did not express his dissatisfaction.  
  
He set the trays down on a polished sideboard in their room and opened the curtains. Saralegui stirred, his eyelids fluttering against the sunlight. “…Berias?” he asked confusedly.  
  
“Your Majesty?”  
  
“Mmnn,” said the boy, stretching. “There you are. You’re always here when I wake up, but I didn’t see you and”—he yawned—“anyway, you’re supposed to be here.”  
  
He looked up at Berias with half-lidded eyes framed by sooty lashes. Berias found himself wondering somewhat irrelevantly how many blonds had thick, dark lashes like that.  
  
“Your Majesty,” he said, “this little adorable moment wouldn’t by any chance be a last-minute attempt to influence my decision, would it?”  
  
Saralegui smiled blandly and felt around the nightstand. After an unsuccessful few moments, he looked down at what he was doing in bewilderment.  
  
“Here.” Berias placed his glasses in his hand. “You left them on the dresser last night.”  
  
“Ah, so I did,” Saralegui said. “Help me get dressed.”  
  
Saralegui was unusually cooperative this morning. He stood very still while Berias brushed the snarls out of his hair and did up all the buttons on his coat and buckled the sword securely at his side. Then, while Berias gathered their things and settled with the innkeeper, Saralegui sat neatly on a bench and waited for him. They walked together up the crumbling paved streets to the palace.  
  
Berias paused at the foot of the steps, looking over the unused fountains and the columns that were cracked but not broken. “What will you do without me?” he asked, serious. “If I don’t go with you, will you be all right?”  
  
Saralegui smiled. “If you think that I’m the one who needs _you_ , Berias, you’d better learn to be a little more self-aware.” He gave Berias a searching look, then spun around, the skirts of his coat flaring out, and strode up the stairs and into the palace.  
  
Alazon’s throne room was graced by gold and turquoise mosaics. Its window openings let in the smell of the sea. Berias tried to imagine a life spent here by its shores, searching his memory for happy scenes held there. All that came to mind were memories of wading in the surf with baby Sara in his arms, watching Alazon and Gilbert-heika flirt and giggle a hundred paces ahead. He’d never had any life but this: first idyllic childhood and then Saralegui—but idyllic childhood couldn’t be recovered. Those days were irretrievable now. And what would a world without Saralegui look like? What would Berias _do_ in it?  
  
The attendants were dismissed. Berias supposed this was to save public embarrassment if the plan failed—Alazon had so little faith in her son. He kept alert in case it was a plot on Saralegui’s life—after all, he was still in his service until the moment they parted.  
  
Alazon had wanted the best and hadn’t gotten it. Saralegui was good enough to give her what she needed, but her proud tastes did not permit the acceptance of substitutes. The royal line of Seisakoku protected its descent second and its people first. It was an utterly humiliating situation, but both Saralegui and Alazon handled their disappointments with grace, chins held proudly and hands elegant and controlled. Everything went exactly as planned—neither of them, Berias knew, would have stood for anything less.  
  
The ceremony was simple. Berias brought the sword in on a white cloth, and when Alazon nodded, he carried it to Saralegui, who advanced to take it in his right hand and, holding it forward, walk up the steps to the throne. Then, at Alazon’s signal, he plunged it downward into the place intended to hold it. When the gold light burst forth from the earth the sword pierced, Saralegui let go and backed away. The hall was filled with light.  
  
Saralegui lifted his chin, spun on his heel, and flounced down the stairs of the dais. “Let’s go home Berias. To _our_ country.”  
  
Berias looked after him in amazement. Had he really not even considered that Berias would choose to stay? Berias watched him walk away, ambitious and disciplined and proud, and longed for him and knew he’d never again meet someone with such potential.  
  
Saralegui paused—ah, there was the uncertainty—but no, he was addressing Alazon, not Berias. Of course he hadn’t doubted: there hadn’t been a moment since they’d met when Berias wasn’t two steps behind him. That poor, sweet, idealistic _child_. He’d really believed that love could make everything work out.  
  
How _could_ you? Berias scolded himself. How _could_ you destroy something like that?  
  
“I will come again,” Saralegui said, not bothering to turn around. “This is the country where I was born.”  
  
Alazon made a small sound.  
  
“We will meet again, Haha-ue,” he said. Tossing his long hair back, he strode confidently toward the door.  
  
Berias bowed quickly to Alazon and hurried after him. Behind them, he could hear the soft sounds of his older sister weeping.  
  
Saralegui stopped on the cracked, dusty entry porch and looked out over the land. Berias stopped behind him deferentially. The sound of murmuring water in the fountains below attracted his attention, and he smiled at the memory of their green gardens and the thought that they would grow green again.  
  
“What is it, Berias?”  
  
“It’s nothing,” he said, looking back at Saralegui.  
  
His king went forward, and he followed.

~*~

They did not speak until they had returned to the ship, and even then, they stood in silence, looking over the ocean.  
  
“Berias,” said Saralegui after a long time, “was I an ugly baby?”  
  
Berias turned to him in shock. “Certainly not. Why do you ask?”  
  
Saralegui hmmed. “Because neither of my parents wanted me, and it seems to me that most parents do want their children. Am I wrong?”  
  
“You were beautiful,” Berias reassured him. “During all the time you were in Seisakoku, I don’t think you ever lay in your bassinet. Everyone wanted to hold you. We had fights over whose turn it was.”  
  
Saralegui smiled a tiny, genuine smile. “Maybe. Still… Well, of course Haha-ue had to take care of her country. I would have done the same thing. But Chichi-ue doesn’t make any sense.”  
  
“His behavior was unpardonable,” said Berias, putting an arm around Saralegui’s shoulders to pull him close. “He didn’t know what to do with you, I think.”  
  
“How hard could it have been?” said Saralegui crossly. “ _You_ managed all right.”  
  
Berias smiled.  
  
“Really,” said Saralegui, “it seemed to come naturally for you. I knew you were going to be wonderful as soon as I saw you because you knelt down to be the same height as me _and_ you talked to me like a grown-up.”  
  
“Well, you were very articulate and well-read for your age,” said Berias.  
  
“I was so lonely then,” said Saralegui. He turned in Berias’s arms and looked up earnestly into his face. “Thank you. It must have been difficult to give up being a prince and play nursemaid to a little brat like me.”  
  
Berias shook his head. “I didn’t notice, if it was.”  
  
Saralegui pursed his lips. “Then you were very stupid.”  
  
Berias laughed.  
  
When the sun set, they went below deck and sat in Saralegui’s room. Saralegui sorted through papers and made Berias read aloud from some insufferably arcane textbook on foreign policy.  
  
“I am educating myself,” he explained haughtily. “Constant self-improvement is vital to good leadership.” So Berias only smiled to himself and went on reading it.  
  
At last, Saralegui neatly stacked his work and slid it into a drawer, which he locked. Holding out his arms, he indicated that Berias should begin undressing him, so Berias put the book away and went to his master.  
  
“You know, of course, Berias,” said Saralegui with affected nonchalance as Berias unbuttoned his coat, “that I didn’t really mean it when I said I didn’t need you.”  
  
Berias raised an eyebrow. “Oh? I thought you had pretty well proved that you can take care of yourself.”  
  
“I _can_ ,” sighed Saralegui, “but it’s bothersome. Do you know that it takes me an hour and a half to get dressed without you? And I only recently figured out how to do it at all. When you left me to get captured and dragged off to Shin Makoku, I had to sleep in my clothes because _I couldn’t take them off_.”  
  
Berias laughed. “Couldn’t you have asked for someone else?”  
  
Saralegui shook his head. “I told you, I don’t want other people touching me. I can’t remember ever having anybody but you.”  
  
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”  
  
“And you know,” added Saralegui, “that first morning after you were gone, it was awful because I woke up and you _weren’t there_. And I thought, 'What’s the matter with me?' because I’m supposed to be king of this country, and how can I rule a country when I love one person more than anything else in the world? Haha-ue is a great queen because she loves Seisakoku more than she loves Chichi-ue or me. And I want to be a great king, but…”  
  
Berias made a sympathetic sound and started buttoning up Saralegui’s nightshirt.  
  
“But I can’t help it,” Saralegui went on. “We’re perfect for each other, so of course it was inevitable.”  
  
“Your Majesty,” said Berias, taking the hairbrush from the vanity, “you know that isn’t the way it works.”  
  
“I know,” sighed the king. “I’m only being flippant. Don’t bother with that, Berias; I’m sure it's good enough for now.”  
  
Berias set the brush back down and went to the bed to turn down the covers.  
  
“Listen,” said Saralegui as he slipped under them, “do you love me more than you love the path of righteousness?”  
  
Berias folded the king’s clothes neatly and considered the question. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “Although it’s wrong—“  
  
“By definition,” supplied Saralegui. “So don’t worry about qualifying it. It’s already getting late, so blow out the lamp on your way over here.”  
  
Nodding, Berias obeyed. In the semi-darkness, he slipped out of his coat and boots and crawled into bed. Saralegui pushed a pillow toward him and then curled up on his side facing him, stroking the back of Berias’s hand with his fingertips.  
  
“I suppose you want to know how this is going to work,” said Saralegui.  
  
“Not unless you want to tell me,” said Berias. “I was just planning to follow you.”  
  
Saralegui looked surprised. “You aren’t going to ask how I plan to bully Shin Makoku into keeping your relation to my mother secret?”  
  
“I wasn’t, no.”  
  
“Oh.” Saralegui’s lips formed a perfect circle. “You’re just going to…”  
  
“To trust you, yes.”  
  
“ _Oh_.”  
  
Berias tucked the covers more tightly around them and reached over to remove Saralegui’s glasses, which he put on his own nightstand.  
  
Saralegui fidgeted.  
  
“Your Majesty?” murmured Berias, putting an arm around his waist.  
  
“You’re the best thing that ever happened to anyone ever,” breathed Saralegui. “Thank you so, so much. And, you know, about the righteousness thing… I don’t want to ask you to do anything you think is wrong. Unless I have to, I mean.”  
  
“I appreciate it,” Berias mumbled into Saralegui’s hair, “but don’t worry about it.”  
  
“No, I mean it,” said Saralegui. He tugged at a loose thread in the sheet. “And Berias… I can’t wait to be… to be _married_ to you… even if you don’t want to _kiss_ me again or anything like that, because… I mean, you don’t have to. Unless you want to.”  
  
Berias looked at him curled up there, nervous and clumsily poised and tangled in the blankets. “Do _you_ want to?” he asked.  
  
“Well,” said Saralegui, “yeah.”  
  
“Hnn.” Berias nuzzled the blond head next to him on the pillow. Deliberately, he planted soft kisses on the eyelids that fluttered closed beneath his lips.  
  
Saralegui whimpered and clutched at him like a frightened child. Berias kissed his nose, his cheeks, his chin, and then his mouth, which opened against his ever so slightly as Saralegui sighed. Berias breathed it in; he grazed the tip of Saralegui’s tongue with his own and tasted the sound of his soft mewling.  
  
“Oh,” Saralegui exhaled, and Berias bumped his head to one side with his nose, better to kiss his neck, his shoulder, his ear, hold Saralegui against him as he shuddered with confused pleasure and nudged his hips against Berias’s thigh. He found the soft place just behind Saralegui’s ear and sucked gently; he nipped at the soft skin on his neck and delighted in his innocent confusion.  
  
Saralegui tasted like autumn sunshine and smelled like lilacs and childhood and the grass that grows on unused paths. He was soft and firm and elegant and expressive, and he looked like paradise descending as he lifted his mouth to be kissed.  
  
At last, long after midnight, Berias pulled away and gazed appraisingly down into golden eyes that were clouded by drowsiness and overwhelmed by the novelty of desire.  
  
“I think we had better go to sleep now,” he said, lowering his head again to murmur the words against the soft mouth that lifted up to press against his.  
  
“Really?” hummed Saralegui.  
  
“Really. You’re half-asleep as it is.”  
  
“Mm-hmm.” Saralegui let his eyes drift closed. “But…”  
  
Berias rolled over onto his back and pulled Saralegui to lie half on top of him. “Morning will come,” he said, kissing Saralegui’s nose, “and tomorrow and every day after that, we’ll be together.” Another kiss. “And we can do this whenever you want.”  
  
“Hnnn…” Saralegui sighed. “And other things?”  
  
“Whatever you want,” Berias promised.  
  
“Anything?” Saralegui half-opened a naughtily sparkling eye.  
  
“Yes.” Berias nodded. “Absolutely. I’m just planning to follow _you_.”


End file.
